Dictionary
by pyrebi
Summary: Improve your vocabulary with Chlark! A collection of generally fluffy and humorous short stories, all inspired by a single word or phrase. Today's word is vim: energy, activity, or vigor!
1. Aegis

**Author's Note:** Whee, author's note has been modified due to reader confusion! I'm always trying to help! The "Need to Know" section shall apply to all subsequent chapter unless noted differently in the chapter's author's note. Okay? Okay. Great!

**Dictionary – Need to Know:** Chlois theory in effect! (Chloe is Lois) Clark and Chloe are married. Both work for the _Planet_. Clark is Superman; Chloe knows. ...Chloe still has blonde hair? (I just realized I said she did in my other two similar timeline stories...well, if I can make Chloe be Lois, I can make Lois have blonde hair, right? No? Drat. Dark hair then.) Got a question about anything else? Let me know and I'll update this section.

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**Dictionary**

_Chapter One_

**Word:** Aegis

---

Perry was on a witch hunt, and no one was safe. The _Planet_ had been scooped—again!—by the _Sun_ on what he had been assured was an exclusive story. The editor was so furious that he had actually come out of his office and was glaring down the quailing reporters in the newsroom. Even the ones who had absolutely nothing to do with the story (such as the restaurant critic, who looked like he might pass out if Perry turned his glare on him again) were chewing on the insides of their lips, waiting for the imminent explosion. One of their number was about to become the sacrificial lamb, and nobody wanted to stand out.

There were very few times when the newsroom of _The Daily Planet_ was silent, but at this point nobody dared to breathe, let alone speak. All eyes were on Perry. Keyboards and telephone calls were abandoned, pencils had stopped their scritching mid-word. The tension was thicker than the Pakistani intern's accent.

Then a loud whistled tune caused everyone's heads to snap towards the glass doors. A tall man was approaching, a smile pasted on his features and laptop bag bumping against his hip as he strode, innocent and clueless, towards the slaughter. He was so perfectly oblivious to the danger that several people gasped, their mouths forming little round "o"s of horror. _Not Clark!_

Perry's face grew redder than ever as one of Clark's notes went horribly off-key. The reporter's hand was on the doorknob. Everyone could hear the _whoosh_ of air as the pressure adjusted, then Clark was inside. Instantly his tune ceased. He had obviously sensed he was in dangerous waters, but far too late. Desperately looking from side to side, as if trying to find an escape route, Clark hastily shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and made a strangled noise.

Perry looked from the clock on the wall to the paralyzed newcomer, a look somewhere between unimaginable fury and a cat ready to pounce on a mouse crossing his face. Clark was thirty-six minutes late, had a minor history of incompetence when it came to keeping a big story secret, and frankly, had been whistling one of Perry's least favorite songs. There seemed to be no hope. The editor had found his lamb. Perry's mouth widened, his throat convulsed, then—

"_It was my fault!_" a voice screeched suddenly. A woman thudded her hands against her desk as she stood, trembling. "My fault," she repeated breathlessly as all the eyes in the room swiveled upon her. "I guess I was being followed, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen!"

"Lois...?" Perry said weakly, the color draining out of his face as the woman fished around on her desk for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

"Lois" nodded briefly, adding, "I'm sorry, Mr. White..." before dissolving into muffled sobs. Perry swallowed thickly, walked over to the crying woman, and slipped an arm around her paternally, trying to calm her from her obviously distraught state.

Allowing herself to be escorted towards his office, the woman threw a look back over her shoulder at Clark, who has sunk back against the wall in relief, a hand clutching at his chest. But this wasn't a tear-filled, _I-hope-you're-okay_ look. This was a _there-had-better-be-chocolate-cake-waiting-for-me-when-I-get-home_ look. Clark, catching the meaning, nodded weakly.

--

"This is _really_ good," Chloe murmured, eyes closed as she took another bite of an enormous slice of Molten-Fudge Double-Espresso Malted-Milk-Ball Triple-Decker Cocoa Cake A La Mode. "Where'd you get it?"

"A diner outside Albany, New York," Clark responded, massaging her feet, which were currently resting on his lap as they lounged on the couch in their apartment. "They have the best "I'm Sorry," "Thank You," and "You're An Absolute Goddess" cakes around."

"I'm going to have to stand up for you more often if this is the result," Chloe sighed blissfully, lifting another forkful to her mouth.

"Which reminds me, thank you so much. If I weren't practically invincible I probably would've keeled over right there from Perry's glare alone. It wasn't my fault that story got leaked, and I _know_ it wasn't yours."

"No problem. He didn't even yell at me. Just patted me on the shoulder and told me to be more careful in the future. I'm telling you, turn on the waterworks and Perry White melts every time," the woman giggled, shifting so Clark could massage her calves too.

"I'm sure it works better if you're a beautiful world-renowned female investigative journalist, too, and not some bumbling idiot," her husband replied with a wry smile, happily complying to Chloe's unspoken demand for him to work out the knots in her legs.

"Well, somebody has to stick up for Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter. Otherwise he'd get walked all over," Chloe grinned, licking frosting off of her fork.

Clark chuckled. "My hero."

--

Taadaa! That was Aegis (definition: support, protection, a shield). Got a word? Let me know! I'm loving where this idea is going! Thanks for reading!


	2. Tryst

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the second short story in the "Dictionary" collection! This one made me bump my rating for this set up to "T." You might think it's kinda tame, but this is one of the raciest things I've written yet! (blushes) I'm so easily embarrassed. Boy, work can be boring, huh? Sometimes you just need a little lift to get you through the day... Thanks to all of my reviewers for "Aegis," and enjoy!

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**Dictionary**

_Chapter Two_

**Word:** Tryst

---

Chloe clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as she watched her husband practically dance his way over to Perry White's office. He'd gotten his article done—with hours to spare!—and was obviously looking forward to not being shouted at. Paper in hand, Clark rapped on the door to the editor's lair before disappearing inside. Chloe repositioned her chair so she had a better view of the office and really did laugh when she saw the tall man come back out looking like a whipped puppy, a Post-it note clasped between his fingers. Once Clark was safely back in his workspace, she picked up her phone and rang his desk.

Before he even said hello, she whispered, "Eighth floor, paper supply room in the left-side hallway, fifteen minutes." She grinned widely as he cast a glance over her way and replaced his handset.

Ten minutes later, Chloe picked up her purse and walked purposefully out of the newsroom, looking for all intensive purposes like she was on the trail of a big story. She stepped onto the elevator and jabbed the correct button, waiting patiently for the car to move. Once she arrived on the eighth floor, she glanced around briefly and ducked into the darkened paper supply room when the coast was clear. Then she sat on a crate of glossy ad-quality stock and waited.

A few minutes later the sliver of light that came in under the door was blocked. The handle turned and a dark figure slipped quickly inside, closing the door silently. Instantly Chloe launched herself forward, found a pair of lips in the dark, and kissed passionately.

A little while (or an eternity—it was hard to tell passage of time with no light about) later, Clark's deep voice gasped, "Hi."

Chloe, her eyes fairly adjusted to the gloom, replied, "Whew. I'm glad you weren't just some intern making a paper run. That could have been very embarrassing."

Clark laughed quietly and kissed her again. "And what am I supposed to think, hm? I walk into a darkened room and find myself sexually assaulted by some random hot reporter?"

"Sexually..." Chloe managed to laugh between short kisses, "...assaulted?"

"Most certainly," the man replied. "I could probably...build quite the...case against...you." He pulled away and smirked. "Like the time you pinned me down on your desk when we were working late; or the incident when the elevator shorted out between floors and you had practically stripped me by the time it started moving again; or all the times you've slapped my butt suggestively as I walked away. That's more than enough to file a huge harassment complaint against you."

"I have _needs_, Clark. And if they involve me and you going totally clothing-optional, then all the better for you," she said slyly, tugging at his tie.

"I _have_ missed you since Perry 'reassigned' our desks so we're farther apart," he admitted, running his hands up and down the cloth covering her hips. "But why the sudden summons?"

"You looked so cute and forlorn leaving his office, I just had to cheer you up," Chloe laughed, standing on her tip-toes to kiss him again. "What happened in there?"

"Just more negative reinforcement. I give him my article and he whips out a pad of sticky notes and starts jotting down a bunch of assignments he wants done by the end of the day '_or else_'. Didn't even give me the satisfaction of hearing one little 'Nice work, Kent.'" Clark muttered petulantly. "See if I ever turn anything in early again."

The woman grinned in the dark, whispering "Nice work, Kent," before kissing him hard, effectively stopping all conversation for several minutes.

Then the door handle rattled unexpectedly and this time it really was an intern making a paper run. Flicking on the lights, the young man shuffled through some boxes before finding the one he wanted, dragging it out of the pile, and hefting the weight onto his shoulder, murmuring vague curses under his breath as he turned off the lights and left the room.

As soon as the door shut, a burst of laughter came from the vicinity of the ceiling, where Clark and Chloe were floating horizontally, trying to be inconspicuous. It had worked, apparently, and as Clark slowly descended, Chloe squealed, "I _told_ you! Nobody _ever_ looks up! It's like this weird thing with people...the horror movies are all correct about that!"

"Maybe we should do a big study on it," Clark chuckled, lowering Chloe until her feet touched the floor again. "You know, breaking news—interns don't notice people hovering against the ceiling. Huge story, that. Maybe even Pulitzer-worthy."

The woman slapped his shoulder lightly. "How long 'til you have to be back at your desk?"

"Oh, I'm good for maybe another twenty minutes before someone comes looking for me," he responded, not loosening his grip on her waist. "You?"

"About that," Chloe smirked.

"Fantastic," Clark said, reaching into his pocket with one hand and turning off his cell phone when still holding her with the other. "We should do this more often."

"Let's not waste time with chit-chat, hmm?" the woman replied, turning off her cell phone as well.

--

Twenty minutes later, Chloe came ambling back into the newsroom, attempting to look—and very nearly pulling it off—as innocent as a lamb. She was approached by a breathless Jimmy Olsen, who spluttered, "Lois! Have you seen your husband? Mr. White wants him; I can't seem to find him anywhere, and his cell phone goes straight to voice mail!"

Chloe pursed her lips and said, "Clark? Let me think..." as if he was just one of her many husbands who were apparently missing. She appeared to ponder for a moment before shrugging. "Can't say I've seen him for a while."

Jimmy ran off, flustered. Minutes later when Clark appeared, the younger man practically tackled him and dragged him off to see Perry. Clark came back scowling with yet another Post-it, this time stuck right in the middle of his forehead. Obviously the editor has been none too pleased with the tall man's disappearing act.

Chloe waited a few beats after Clark sat down to pick up the phone. "Same place, same time tomorrow?" she whispered throatily.

Clark shot her a wicked grin from across the room and replied, "Yes, ma'am. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

Then both hung up and got busy writing their articles, but not before making little marks on their calendars.

--

Eeep! It's over! That was Tryst (definition: an appointment to meet, especially between lovers). Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Vim

**Author's Note:** Does Clark have to shave? Wouldn't normal razors just shatter trying to trim the super-stubble? I dunno. That's why I'm deliberately leaving shaving out of this vignette. (laughs) Anyway, unlike the first two stories, this one is actually kinda the opposite of the word that inspired it. Hope you enjoy!

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**Dictionary**

_Chapter Three_

**Word:** Vim

---

Chloe groaned and rolled over, slapping the snooze button on her alarm ferociously. She was _tired!_ With the annoying buzzing of the clock off, she could hear the soft pattering of the rain against the window, and it seemed to be whispering a lullaby to her. She'd just sleep a little longer...Clark would wake her up for work anyway.

Falling back into bed, however, she gasped a little when her bare shoulder made contact with flesh instead of the sheets she had been expecting. She didn't even have to look to know it was Clark—Chloe's shoulder might've landed on a concrete wall for all of the give those muscles allowed her. What was surprising is that Clark was _always _awake first, and it was very rare that he should still be in bed at—here Chloe cast a glance at the alarm clock—6:30 in the morning. Farm boys, always getting up at the crack of dawn.

Squirming around to see him better, Chloe noticed that he was lying half on his stomach, facing away from her, his pillow clutched tightly under his chin. The blanket was pooled around his waist, and the rhythmic rising and falling of his exposed back was testament to the fact that he was still very much asleep. Unusual, yes...but Chloe rarely got a chance to see him sleeping, so she took a few moments to study her husband, a small smile playing over her face.

Eventually, Chloe ran her fingers down his shoulder blade, chuckling at she watched the muscles under his skin shudder in response to her touch. Leaning over and pressing her lips against his ear, she whispered, "Hey, time to get up."

No response.

Tracing the swirling pattern of hair at the nape of his neck, she said a bit more loudly, "Come on. Time to get up."

Again, no response.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Clark."

Not even a hitch in the breathing.

She began tugging on his earlobe. "Seriously. Up and at 'em, Kent. There's coffee to be drunk, articles to be written, cataclysmic tragedies to be prevented. I can only manage the first two, thank you very much."

This time Clark shifted a little and groaned grumpily. Chloe continued to tug on his ear, wiggling it up and down in a manner she could only assume was annoying. When that failed to gain another reaction, she reached down, seized the covers, and flipped them off of the man.

Clark immediately groaned again and curled into a fetal position around his pillow, eyes still firmly closed. His hand stretched out, grasping for the blanket that had just been torn away from him. Grinning, Chloe kept it just out of reach. Eventually Clark seemed to give up; his breathing returned to the slow, steady pace of sleep.

Now a little aggravated, Chloe began to dig her fingers underneath his body. She slid her arms between the sheets and the dozing man and threw her slight weight against his much bulkier form, using her forearms as levers. Clark rocked a little and murmured "Hey...'top ih," into his pillow.

Chloe tried shoving him again harder and this time all six-feet-three-inches and two-hundred-twenty-odd-pounds of Clark Kent went tumbling over onto his other side and teetered on the edge of the bed for an impossibly long moment. Then, arms flailing, he fell.

Scooting over to the edge, Chloe smiled down at the man, now sprawled between the bed and the end table, dressed only in a pair of boxer-briefs. "Good morning, honey-lamb," she said, grinning toothily.

Clark blinked up at her slowly. His dark hair was horribly mussed, and his usually bright eyes were a dim shade of grey. He inhaled deeply and shook his head a little, as if trying to clear it. He shifted languidly as Chloe reached down and rubbed the top of his head energetically, making the already untidy hair stick out at all sorts of odd angles.

"_I'm_ going to go make coffee. Too bad the caffeine doesn't affect you, Clark. You look like you could really use it this morning," the woman laughed. "Go take a shower. Maybe that'll wake you up."

Nodding slowly, Clark got up and stumbled off towards the bathroom, rubbing his face as he went.

--

Chloe had brewed, doctored, and drunk two cups of coffee before she got worried. She knew Clark took long showers sometimes, but this was getting ridiculous. At the very least, she wasn't going to get any hot water.

Knocking on the door but not getting a response, the woman peeked inside. The water was running, the curtain was closed, but there was no answer from Clark. Suddenly going into panic mode, Chloe rushed over and ripped back the curtain. Clark was leaning against the wall under the spout of water, eyes half-lidded and breathing deep. He rolled his head to look at Chloe and smiled weakly.

It took about half a second for her to blush. Yeah, she knew they were married, and she'd certainly seen him unclothed before, but there was always something about wet, naked Clark Kent that sent Chloe straight back to high school. Seeing that he wasn't drowning somehow, she quickly turned off the water—long since turned cold—and grabbed a towel.

"Here," she said, holding it out to him and turning away.

He laughed slowly and took the towel, wrapping it around his waist before dragging himself back to the bedroom. A few minutes later he emerged in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, crossed the apartment's living room, and flopped on the couch.

Chloe, who had been setting records for world's fastest shower due to the severe coldness of the water, found him drifting off to sleep once more upon her return to the living room/kitchen area. Eyebrows knit, she shook his shoulder.

"Clark, what's wrong with you? Get dressed, we have to leave for work soon," she said, instinctively feeling his forehead for fever. Of course he didn't have one...Clark Kent never came down with a cold.

Stifling a yawn, Clark opened dull eyes. "I dunno, Chlo'. I'm so tired. You think I can call in sick today?"

Chloe bit her lip. "You used up all your sick days last week when you dealing with that hurricane in the Caribbean. I don't think Perry..." she trailed off as she noticed Clark had fallen asleep again. Now that she really looked at him, he seemed pale. Something was definitely not right.

She decided she _would_ call him in sick today...and take a day off herself. If there was something up with _this_ man, it deserved some serious observation and quick remedying. Chloe had just dialed the number for the _Planet_ and was listening to the ringing when snatches of the morning news came floating over to her. She always turned the news on while she had her coffee.

Now the pretty anchorwoman was talking with the weathergirl about the rain. Chloe caught pieces of the conversation. The anchor was mentioning that the storm was a remnant of last week's hurricane, and the weathergirl agreed that the dying hurricane had met a warm front just over Metropolis and had caused the overhanging storm. The anchor casually mentioned that it'd been raining for four days straight and was told not to expect a break in the weather until the end of the week.

It was almost as if an audible _click_ went off in Chloe's brain. Slapping a palm to her forehead, she hung up the phone and took a look out the window. Yep, it had been overcast for days. Shaking her head, Chloe walked back over to the sleeping Clark and dragged him to his feet.

Clark opened groggy eyes and Chloe patted his cheeks to keep him awake. Smiling ironically, she asked, "You think you can still fly for a little bit? Do you?" She raised an eyebrow as Clark shrugged and nodded weakly.

Soon the two were on the roof, Clark wobbling against Chloe as his eyes slipped shut again. "Hey, cut that out!" she cried, shaking his arm. "Now fly. Yeah, go on, go sun yourself. Above the clouds with you." Clark looked at her for a second, totally uncomprehending, then drifted slowly upwards. "And don't come back until you feel better!" she shouted after him, adding "Dummy," under her breath.

--

Around eight that evening, the window slid open and Clark floated through. Chloe looked up from her movie and Thai takeout and rolled her eyes. "How do you feel?"

Clark touched down lightly and had the decency to look sheepish. "A lot better."

Chloe turned back to the television and harrumphed, "My husband: the solar battery. We really need to get you one of those "Recharge Now" warning lights, Clark."

"Hey," the man protested weakly, speeding over to the couch and curling up next to her. "I'm not a cell phone."

"No, cell phones have convenient little chargers and don't go into power-saving hibernation mode after a few rainy days. Here, try the eggplant," she said, passing him a box and a pair of chopsticks.

Now it was Clark's turn to roll his eyes. "Hey, I can't help it. Must've been a combination of being really busy last week and having no exposure to the sun this week. Kinda used up my reserve stores, I suppose."

Popping a piece of beef into her mouth, Chloe muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Damn Kryptonian physiology."

"Eh, you know you like it," Clark rejoined with an exaggerated wink. "And since I'm feeling so much more...lively...how about we skip the movie, hm?"

"Hell no, I paid four bucks for this at Blockbuster. It's my reward for going to work all day while you were out doing a glorified version of working on your tan. Now hush, I'm watching Joaquin Phoenix."

"Waste of four bucks, then," he said with a sly laugh as he kissed her neck. "How about a better reward?"

Swatting at him playfully, Chloe sighed. "I think I liked you better in power-down. At least then you were less annoying."

"Admit it, you wouldn't have me any other way," Clark's deep voice rumbled against her jaw.

"Yeah, okay, fine. Welcome back to the realm of the living and fully-charged, Clark," she said, turning to kiss him back.

Making a triumphant sound deep in his throat, he scooped her up and carried her out of the living room, movie and Thai food completely forgotten.

--

Taadaa! There's Vim (definition: energy; activity; vigor). This story is dedicated to my potted violet, Edgar, who was _not_ happy when I removed him from his nice sun-lit spot in my parent's kitchen and brought him to my relatively dark dormitory with no direct light whatsoever. Yeah, I think it killed him. I know Clark's always compared to a solar battery, but I always think of him like a plant! (laughs) Weird me. Anyway... (shakes tin cup) ...reviews?


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